


and these days are yet to end

by affectingly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/pseuds/affectingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison and Lydia don’t know if anyone else survived, but they have each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and these days are yet to end

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [И эти дни закончатся](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704491) by [Umi_no_Iruka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umi_no_Iruka/pseuds/Umi_no_Iruka)



In many ways, Allison thinks Lydia was the most prepared for this. She wouldn’t have thought so before -- before when the world didn’t smell like smoke and taste like panic, before when she didn’t wake up every day with acid at the back of her throat and dirt under her fingernails.

__

It’s Lydia’s idea to cut their hair.

“It’s just getting in the way! And we can’t keep it clean anyway. Just do it.” She holds out the dagger Allison gave her weeks ago.

Allison hesitates, but not because Lydia isn’t right.  She thinks of Stiles, of the way he used to call Lydia’s hair strawberry blond, the way he’d correct anyone who dared to say it was red.

The memory makes her angry and she snatches the blade away from Lydia and scoops a big chunk of her hair up, slicing through it. Lydia doesn’t flinch.

When it’s her turn, Allison sits in the mess of copper curls, gripping her thighs to keep her hands from trembling.

Lydia’s fingers slide through the tangled, greasy mess that Allison’s hair has become. She wants to tell her to get on with it, to stop touching it so much. It’s disgusting. They haven’t been able to bathe in days.

Besides that, it makes more unwelcome memories come to the surface, of sleepovers when Lydia would play with her hair as they talked for hours, of Lydia helping her get ready for dates with Scott.

Allison doesn’t know where Scott is, doesn’t know if he or anyone else made it out of Beacon Hills.

She realizes she’s crying when Lydia’s thumb brushes across her cheek. She sniffs hard and turns her face away, rubbing at her eyes.

Lydia doesn’t say anything, just takes a handful and starts cutting.

__

They rarely see anyone on the road. Sometimes, Allison thinks they’re the only ones left in the whole world, but she knows that can’t be true. They still pick up chatter on the crank radio they salvaged from a junkyard in an empty little town in Wyoming… or was it South Dakota? She’s not sure anymore. Everything looks the same. Deserted even if it’s still standing.

They stay away from big cities though, and the last people they met a month back said there are still some people there, fighting as much as they can, holding on to whatever’s worth holding. Lydia thinks they’re fools, but Allison wonders if they should turn back, can’t help but wonder if the boys didn’t give up on home, either.

“If they stayed, they’re dead or one of them,” says Lydia, matter-of-fact. “BH was ground zero, Allison. There’s nothing left. We can’t go back.”

 _Not yet_ hangs between them.

Allison knows it’s the truth. It doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

__

They turn south when it starts to snow. Allison thinks it’s December, but she’s not sure. When they cross the Colorado-New Mexico border, they run across a couple of survivors who talk proudly of all the wolves they’ve killed.

“Found a couple up near Wichita. They said they weren’t infected, but any wolf should be a dead wolf, am I right?” the woman, Anne, says.

Allison feels sick. “Infected werewolves can’t take human form. They’re feral. Killing the uninfected is — “

“Stupid,” snaps Lydia, voice like ice. “Any uninfected werewolves left might help us figure out a cure.”

“Cure? Ha, I got your cure, sweetheart,” says her husband, Hamish, patting the gun on his hip.

The couple tries to rob them later. Allison doesn’t even feel guilty when Lydia kills them.

__

It’s been a year. She only figures it out because they’re in California again and there’s a solar powered bank sign in a town that used to be called Hope. The date and time scroll across the screen along with the occasional reminder that the bank will be closed on Memorial Day.

It makes her laugh so hard she has to sit down on the ground, in the middle of the abandoned parking lot. She laughs until she’s sobbing, until her eyes burn and her throat hurts and her chest aches.

Lydia sits down next to her, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. After a long time, she says, “It’s about a two day walk from here.”

Allison doesn’t need to ask what she’s talking about. “Yeah, okay.”


End file.
